


loving can heal, loving can mend your soul

by guitarstrings



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guitarstrings/pseuds/guitarstrings
Summary: It’s the sound of Betty’s heartbeat that pieces Veronica back together after yet another emotional roller coaster of a night.They’re lying on the bed in Veronica’s bedroom, with her ear pressed against Betty’s chest as she listens to the steady, rhythmic beating of her heart, quiet and even and here.The weight of her arm around Veronica and holding her close grounding and sure.In which Veronica is sure Betty won't break her heart.





	loving can heal, loving can mend your soul

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this fic taken from "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Also, other songs that helped inspire me while writing this:
> 
> Your Love by Juris  
> Breathe by Lauv
> 
> Hope you guys like this!

For all her life, Veronica was used to being in the spotlight. To being showered with attention and expensive gifts and living a lavish lifestyle. Has been from the moment she was born, because her father is the first to do so.

But not everything he gave her is for a positive reason. For every mistake, every disappointment he causes, he covered them all up by giving her the most recent model, most expensive handbag faster than people can say ‘sorry’.

And Veronica, being the naïve sixteen year old she is, thinks this is how you’re supposed to apologize.

How you show people affection.

By showering them with the priciest gifts imaginable without so much as batting an eye in order to gain their favor.

It’s the world she grew up in, where people throw her compliments left and right, expressing their agreement and awe when she flashes her latest Louis Vuitton handbag.

Where her friends drip with gold and diamonds, riding only the most luxurious cars driven by a personal chauffeur provided by their parents.

Where the topic of conversation in school is about the latest line of perfumes and upcoming trips to foreign countries and shopping sprees in the most exclusive of malls.

Questions about your personal life, your family, or your well-being are never asked. It’s always about the latest fashion trends, which piece of jewelry would best fit this outfit, or when is the latest line of perfumes coming out again?

Always about how flashy you can be in an equally flashy city with all its bright lights and grand splendor.

So Veronica thrives in that power, plasters on her fake smiles as she goes along with whatever trend her group follows next.

(If they only knew the reason why she’s been getting more and more expensive bags as of late.)

* * *

 (Veronica figures that her father would be arrested in the showiest way possible; with people wearing their most expensive suits and dresses to witness him being cuffed and dragged away by the FBI.

The lights have become more blinding all of a sudden, and Veronica can only look on helplessly as she watches her father fade away into the distance.

And just like that, the attention she gets from that point forward are all for the wrong reasons.

She suddenly hates New York’s bright lights and flashing signs and loud noises.)

* * *

 People say that home is a feeling. A sense of security, of comfort, of familiarity you find in another person. How, when, you’re with them, you feel protected. Safe.

_Loved._

Like nothing can touch or hurt you.

Except, Veronica doesn’t feel those things anymore whenever she thinks of her father. When she closes her eyes, all she can see is the police dragging him away in handcuffs. When she looks at the expensive gifts he’s given her, it reminds her of the money he’s stolen, how he’s used them to win her favor time and time again whenever he makes mistakes.

(All she feels now is pain and anger and betrayal and  _how stupid she was_ for thinking that being given the nicest, most expensive things was  _love._

Because it isn’t. It never has been, and it never will be.

She wishes it hadn’t taken her sixteen years to realize that.)

So when she reads her mom’s text that her father is going to call later that night to catch up, Veronica has an overwhelming urge to laugh bitterly because he acts like nothing has changed.

Like he’s just away on some business trip and isn’t locked up in  _prison._

 _God,_ how much more messed up can this be?

Veronica doesn’t realize she’s gripping her phone so tightly that her knuckles have turned white from the strain until she hears Betty speak, gentle and quiet and concerned.

“Veronica?”

Veronica blinks, shoves her phone back inside her bag with more force than necessary and folds her hands on the table.

Then there’s another set of hands covering her own, and Veronica instantly feels better. She looks up, catches Betty’s worried glance. Green eyes soft and kind and  _free._

“My dad’s going to call,” Veronica starts, pulls back one hand to rub at her tired eyes. “And I’m not sure if I can handle it. I don’t even know if I  _want_ to talk to him,” she adds with a hollow laugh, keeps her focus on the warmth of Betty’s fingers rubbing small circles around her palms and wrists.

“You don’t have to, if it’s not what you want,” Betty murmurs, the weight of her touch keeping Veronica sane.

“Only he’ll call every day to get me to talk to him,” Veronica smiles ruefully. “You know how persistent he can be.”

“I can come over tonight and be there for you, if it’ll help,” Betty offers without missing a beat, smiles in that soft, reassuring way reserved for Veronica.

(With everything that’s going on in her life right now, this is exactly what Veronica needed.

She appreciates how Betty always makes her feel like she has a choice, that she’s not being pressured into making a decision which doesn’t even take her own well-being into consideration.

That whatever she decides to do, Betty would always be in her corner, supporting her and lifting her up.

Never trapping her into a corner or boxing her in to the point where she no longer feels like she can breathe.

Always, always doing whatever she can to lift the weight off of her shoulders.

And if not for Betty, Veronica would already have lost her mind.)

“You already are,” Veronica murmurs, runs her thumb over Betty’s. She takes a deep breath, chews on her lip and looks thoughtfully at Betty. “And if it’s not a bother, I’d like it if you were there.”

“Then I’ll be there,” Betty promises.

(And despite the dark cloud looming over her heads, Veronica feels light.

Because she knows she can always count on Betty to be her constant.)

* * *

 Betty Cooper is shy smiles, quiet tones, and soft-colored cardigans. She’s soft touches, warm green eyes and silent affection.

She’s as soundless as Riverdale when night falls, but just as bright and lively when the sun rises. Her eyes coming alive at the prospect of a new story, at the mention of Pop’s milkshakes.

A little unsure sometimes, but burns fiercely when she cares.

(Most days, Betty feels more and more like home than the sound of her father’s voice.

More than his arms wrapped around her after he comes home from work back when she was five.)

Talking to her father had proved to be exhausting yet again, the roughness of his voice no longer holding some semblance of comfort to Veronica the way it once had. And if it weren’t for Betty being there to support her, Veronica isn’t sure she’d have been able to hold herself together throughout the entire conversation.

It’s the sound of Betty’s heartbeat that pieces Veronica back together after yet another emotional roller coaster of a night.

They’re lying on the bed in Veronica’s bedroom, with her ear pressed against Betty’s chest as she listens to the steady, rhythmic beating of her heart, quiet and even and  _here._

The weight of her arm around Veronica and holding her close grounding and sure.

( _Silent affection_ , like the way her eyes find Veronica’s from across the room and soften when they do. The warmth of her fingertips as they brush across Veronica’s wrists.

Hesitant at first, but growing more and more confident with each passing day.

Betty is subtle in displaying her fondness, but ever so certain with a hint of calm that Veronica can feel even her slightest touch.

Ever so sure of her, of  _them._ )

“You can go, if you need to,” Veronica murmurs, the first words she’s spoken since they curled up together on her bed. “I don’t want your mom to punish you.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re more important,” Betty says, shifts so she can pull Veronica closer, hand brushing against her shoulder.

Veronica nods, falls back in silence. Traces Betty’s wrist with her fingertips, curls and uncurls a fist around it. Without saying a word, Betty opens her palm, and Veronica subconsciously traces the faded crescent marks, wonders why this town, their  _families_ are so messed up.

Wonders why loving her father now only hurts her more than helps like it’s supposed to.

“I’m here,” Betty mumbles, presses her lips against Veronica’s hair.

“Thank you,” Veronica swallows, clutches Betty’s shirt and sinks deeper into her arms.

Thinks she’s never felt safer, more cared for in her life than she does right now.

(Veronica doesn’t ever want this feeling to stop, doesn’t want Betty being in her life to go away.

Because just the thought of waking up one day and finding Betty gone  _terrifies_ her beyond words.

But the steady rise and fall of Betty’s chest reassures Veronica she isn’t going anywhere.

That she’ll be here, she’ll  _always_ be here.)

* * *

 

(When Veronica wakes up the next morning, Betty is still there, serene and peaceful in her sleep. Arms wrapped loosely around her waist and the most relaxed Veronica’s ever seen her.

Veronica smiles fondly, places one hand right above Betty’s beating heart and brushes back her hair with the other, leaning in to kiss her forehead. She chuckles when Betty murmurs her name, warming at the thought that she’s probably dreaming of her.

And, like always when Betty is with her, Veronica is at peace.)

* * *

Lately, Veronica’s taken to wearing Betty’s clothes a lot. Hoodies, sleep shirts, plaid shirts, anything goes. She’s been wearing them to bed more often than she does her silk nightgowns, the lingering scent of Betty’s perfume on the material helping Veronica sleep when Betty can’t stay over.

She’s been so used to wearing Betty’s tops that on Polly’s first morning at the Pembrooke, Veronica feels like a deer caught in headlights when she walks out of her room wearing Betty’s favorite blue flannel shirt  _and Polly is right there in the kitchen, staring at her._

Veronica quickly composes herself, hopes she doesn’t look too guilty because she knows what it looks like.

(Like her and Betty are dating,  _serious_ dating, which Veronica admits she wishes they are, but she doesn’t know what Betty feels about her yet.

If it’s something more than friendship.)

“Good morning, Veronica,” Polly smiles, and if she’s surprised by Veronica wearing one of her sister’s clothes, she doesn’t show it.

(Betty, on the other hand, doesn’t know how to lie or hide her surprise to save her life.

Though Veronica finds that endearing.

Well, she finds pretty much  _everything_ about Betty to be endearing.)

“Good morning, Polly,” Veronica smiles back, though deep inside she wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did. How about you?”

On instinct, Veronica tugs on the sleeves of her (Betty’s) shirt, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she imagines Betty wearing it.

“I did, too,” Veronica breathes, fights off the urge to pull the material tighter around her.

Polly nods, expression thoughtful as she takes a sip from her mug.

(Polly reminds her of Betty in some places, like the color of her eyes and the gentleness of her nature.

Quiet and observant, but not the type that makes you squirm.

And always, always kind.)

The silence goes on for a few more beats, until, “You know… Betty’s happier around you,” Polly says, voice tender.

Stunned, Veronica stands shock-still, unsure how to respond.

“She’s… lighter, too. Like you lift all the weight off her shoulders by just being in the same room as her,” Polly continues, green eyes crinkling gently around the corners as the words fall from her lips.

Veronica swallows, fiddles with the collar of her shirt. Clearly, she’d underestimated how observant Polly is.

(It’s funny, because the way Polly describes how Betty is around her is  _exactly_ how Veronica feels, too.

One touch, one  _look_ from Betty, and Veronica is whole again. The quirky tug of her lips easing the tiredness in Veronica’s soul.

That dopey smile she wears when she wakes up in the morning instantly brightening Veronica’s day.

She just- she didn’t know she had the same effect on Betty.)

“That’s how she make me feels, too,” Veronica says quietly, picks at her shirt collar. “She gets me even when I don’t get myself, and I’ve never had someone like her in my life before,” she adds with a small laugh, shaking her head.

Polly smiles, hops off her chair and places a hand on Veronica’s shoulder.  _Much like Betty,_ Veronica thinks.

“Thank you,” Polly says, envelops Veronica in a hug and  _oh,_ it’s not what she was expecting but she hugs Polly back, anyway.

“For what?” Veronica asks, startled.

“For everything. For taking care of Betty, especially,” Polly tilts her head, hands still on Veronica’s shoulders.

“I- you don’t need to thank me,” Veronica bites her lip, casts her gaze downwards. “She’s always been there for me, too. More than anyone ever has been, actually.”

(More than her father, she thinks. And it’s not just because of the arrest, but also everything else that’s happened beforehand.

For all the times he’s canceled on their plans at the last second. For thinking giving her material things would magically fix everything and make her forget her disappointment.

For not even sounding the least bit sorry or guilty every time they talk over the phone.

For  _lying_ to her all these years.)

“Don’t sell yourself short, Veronica. I’m sure you know it’s not an easy feat to get Betty to slow down and stop burdening herself with everything.”

Veronica chuckles, wipes a stray tear from her eye. “She’s worth it, though.”

“And so are you,” Polly says gently, squeezes Veronica’s shoulder.  “Betty cares about you, Veronica, and I don’t think anything’s going to change that.”

And  _oh,_ it takes all Veronica’s strength not to cry at that.

(She hasn’t thought that she was someone worth caring for, worth anybody else’s time of day after everything had been stripped away from her in the blink of an eye.

But then Betty comes along, overlooking her past and willing to give her another chance.

Constantly reassuring her that she is  _not_ her father and  _no, you don’t destroy everything you touch._

Betty says those words often enough that Veronica has started to believe them herself.

Believes that Betty truly, deeply cares for her, faults and all.)

Before she has a chance to respond, Smithers’ voice comes booming in from the intercom.

“Miss Veronica, Miss Betty is on her way up.”

Polly grins, pats Veronica’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Veronica blushes, lets out a shy laugh. Thankfully, Polly doesn’t comment on the sudden shift in her behavior at the mention of Betty’s arrival.

“I’ll go get the door,” Veronica mumbles, just short of breaking into a sprint towards the threshold.

The knocks on the door are barely finished when Veronica swings the door open, face breaking into a wide grin as Betty stands in front of her, face lit up like the sun and  _oh._

“Betty,” Veronica breezes, sweeps Betty’s arm into hers as she leads her inside. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Ronnie,” Betty laughs, and if there’s any sound that can cure Veronica of any kind of heartache, it’s  _that._

“Hi, Betty,” Polly smiles, stretches her arms towards Betty.

Ecstatic and relieved, Betty rushes to hug Polly, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Oh, Pol. How are you?”

“I’m doing great. Veronica’s really nice, so I can see why you love spending time with her so much,” Polly chuckles, throws a wink at Veronica.

“What, I don-“

“Come now, Betty. I’m your sister. You don’t think I can tell when you’re happy?” Polly chides Betty playfully, and Veronica bites back a grin.

Blushing hard, Betty shuffles her feet, but makes no attempts to deny what Polly said, either.  

_Betty’s happier around you._

(Veronica’s happier around Betty, too.)

* * *

 (Her conversation with Polly had been an awakening of sorts, reinforcing what Veronica feels for Betty.

Telling her she didn’t need to be afraid, because Betty wouldn’t ever hurt her the way her family is hurting her now.

That  _loving_ Betty won’t weigh her down or make her feel like she’s drowning.

Because despite all the screwed up things that’s been happening in her life since her father’s arrest, being with Betty is the only thing that doesn’t hurt.

And when Betty reaches out underneath the table to hold her hand, smiling softly at her, Veronica knows this is the one thing that won’t break her heart.

 _Betty_ won’t break her heart.)

* * *

 Veronica didn’t think it was possible to have her heart broken by her father a second time, but it happens. Whatever hope, whatever ounce of  _trust_  she had left in him had been destroyed the moment Kevin broke news of Ethel’s dad having tried to commit suicide.

Because of  _her own_ father.

She didn’t think he could sink no lower, but he did, he  _has._ And it makes her sick, thinking of how many more lives he had ruined all for the sake of rising straight to the top.

(Thinking of the lives  _she_ ruined during her reign in Spence. That girl that was sent to therapy because of something  _she’d_ done.

The apple really doesn’t fall too far from the tree.)

The only sounds she hears in the empty bathroom are her own anguished sobs and of her pearls clattering to the floor, the thought in her head a lone,  _he broke my heart again._

She barely hears the door to the bathroom swinging wide open, but the footsteps that follow are crystal clear.

_Betty._

Sinking to the floor, Veronica reaches out desperately, seeking the comfort she can find only in Betty’s arms.

And Betty doesn’t fail her, wraps her arms tight around Veronica before she falls to the floor. Hands running up and down her back and chin tucked on top of her head.

“I  _hate_ him,” Veronica sobs, buries her face into Betty’s chest, fists tight around her shirt. Shoulders shaking from the anger and  _hurt_ she feels. “He destroys  _everything._ ”

“Not us, not  _you._ I won’t let him,” Betty breathes, lips ghosting over Veronica’s hair. “I’m here.”

Veronica trembles, holds on fiercely to Betty, afraid she might suddenly disappear if she doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“Stay,” Veronica mumbles, voice shaky and cracked.

“Always,” Betty promises, and Veronica believes her. 

(Betty has never lied to her, after all.

Unlike  _him._ )

* * *

 

_Spring._

Spring is Veronica’s favorite time of the year, where brightly-colored flowers bloom and the grass a rich green underneath her feet. Where the sun shines with the right amount of breeze to make for a pleasant weather.

Where everything is bright and full of life again after a cold, dreary winter.

And Betty is her spring, with all the warmth she brings and her rich laughter and dancing green eyes. An explosion of colors after seeing nothing but an endless white, leaving Veronica breathless and awed every time.

Where Veronica can walk by her side,  _to_ her without fear of falling and getting hurt or wounded. Where she can see everything clearly and doesn’t have to be wary of any secrets lurking beneath the surface.

And after being let down by her father again, Betty’s overflowing warmth is what Veronica needs most.

(She, on the other hand, was winter. One false step, and the ice can break underneath your feet and you’re suddenly plunging into ice-cold water, helpless and afraid and  _panicking_.

Step on the deep end of the snow, only to find yourself stuck in the end.

But Betty melted her, and she can’t, doesn’t  _want_ to be that person anymore.

Where she was once surrounded by an endless white, she now sees the flowers blooming beneath Betty’s feet, spreading and spreading until they’re flourishing underneath her  _own_ feet, too.

Turning everything soft and beautiful until all the ice around her has given way to a field of golden flowers.)

“Hey, V?”

Veronica hums, swings her legs forward from where she’s sitting on the counter. Gaze landing on Betty’s legs sticking out from underneath the car she’s working on.

“Yeah, B?”

“Can you hand me the wrench?” Betty asks, voice muffled.

“Okay.” Veronica hops down from the counter, reaches for the wrench inside Betty’s toolbox.

(And yes, she knows what a  _wrench_ looks like, thank you very much.)

“Thanks,” Betty slides out from underneath the car, smiles at Veronica as she takes the tool.

“Anything for my dear Betty,” Veronica grins, relishes in the laugh Betty lets out as she slides back under. “But seriously, what made you decide to take on jobs fixing cars?”

“There’s something I want to get, and obviously, asking my mom for money is out of the question,” Betty explains, grunts as she does whatever the hell she’s doing down there.

Don’t ask Veronica, because she knows absolutely  _nothing_ about cars.

“Huh. Would that happen to be a gift for yours truly?” Veronica asks sweetly, innocently.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” Betty teases.

“Then wait I shall,” Veronica declares, and Betty laughs again.

“Aaaand, I’m done!” Betty says brightly, popping out from beneath. Her neck and chest are slick with sweat, hands and shirt covered in grease and smudging part of her chin and cheeks.

Veronica chuckles at the sight, because  _of course_ Betty Cooper is a grease monkey.

A damn cute one at that, too.

“Alright, come here,” Veronica smiles, takes one of the damp towels sitting on the counter.

“You know I can do this myself, right?” Betty points out playfully, holding out her hands.

“Oh, I know,” Veronica says as she gently wipes the dirt away from Betty’s skin, silently noting the small nicks and callouses on the back of her hands and fingers. “I just like doing this,” she adds quietly, keeping her gaze fixed on Betty’s hands.

There’s a beat of silence, and Betty murmurs, “I like it, too.”

Veronica’s breath hitches, eyes darting up to meet Betty’s. A shy smile spreads across both their faces, Betty blushing and Veronica biting her lip.

It isn’t even springtime in Riverdale, but it feels a lot like it with the way Betty is looking at her, with how her hair glows golden-bright like the sun on the first spring morning.

_Veronica’s spring._

“Okay, now for your face, you big grease monkey,” Veronica teases, discarding the used towel in favor of a new one.

Wordlessly, Betty leans in closer, and Veronica resists the urge to kiss her right there and then. So she focuses on anywhere  _but_ Betty’s lips, rubbing the oil and grime away from her face.

Betty doesn’t say anything, either, and Veronica is content to bask in the silence.

“There,” Veronica murmurs, drops the towel to touch Betty’s cheek.

Betty doesn’t draw back, instead tilts her head forward, taking Veronica’s other hand and leading it to her other cheek.

And her eyes,  _God, her eyes,_ looking at Veronica in a way no one else ever has.

(And Veronica doesn’t want  _anyone else_ looking at her this way.

Just Betty.

 _Forever_ Betty.)

Veronica gently strokes Betty’s cheeks and chin with the pads of her thumbs, smiles as Betty wears a content expression, eyelids fluttering shut as Veronica brushes their lips together, faintly at first before  _finally, finally_ kissing her.

Wanting to feel Betty’s heartbeat, Veronica places her hand on her chest, deepening the kiss. Betty releases a soft sigh, slides her hands towards Veronica’s waist, chasing her lips with her own as she pulls her closer.

“Last chance to turn back,” Veronica warns, but Betty pulls her into a tight embrace, placing one hand on the back of Veronica’s head as she holds her close.

“Never,” Betty swears, calm but  _fierce_ all the same. “I just- I can’t. I won’t, Veronica.”

(There’s a part of her that wants to tell Betty to  _run,_ to turn back for her own good because everything her family touches ends up in ruins.

Because she almost managed to destroy  _them_ once, and Veronica doesn’t think she can handle it if it happens again.

But she’s selfish. She’s always been so selfish, and the larger part of her would always want Betty, would always  _love_ Betty even though she’s terrified this might come crumbling down like everything else in her life.

So she can’t bring herself to summon the courage to push Betty away, because  _God,_ she just wants to keep letting Betty in.

Wants Betty to stay through it all.)

“Hey, hey,” Betty rushes out, guides Veronica’s arms around her waist. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, okay? And you’re  _not_ your father. You’re not- you don’t wreck things, you  _build_  them up,” she pauses, lets out a short laugh and pulls away briefly to point at herself to make a point. “You build  _me_ up.”

(Veronica has heard a lot of things in her life, but this is the first someone has told her that she doesn’t leave a trail of debris in her path.

Then again, this  _is_ Betty, and she’s said a lot of things Veronica hasn’t heard before. And not just with words, but also with her eyes and the warm glances she sends Veronica’s way.

And God help her, she  _means_ them, too.

She’s the first person to mean  _everything_ she says and does.)

Veronica swallows, sinks into Betty’s arms like she always does. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, too.”

(And she  _is._ She always will be.)

* * *

  _What kind of man,_ Veronica thinks,  _would threaten his own daughter, his own family?_

Her father, apparently. He’s sunken low, so damn low to the point where he’s more than willing to destroy his own family for his selfish interests.

And for what? So he could get out of jail to wreak havoc on more innocent people? To ruin more lives?

Including his own  _wife and daughter’s lives_?

It just doesn’t make any sense. Everything’s so  _screwed up_ when it comes down to him. And if he really was innocent, why would he need to blackmail them to testify on his behalf?

If he really did nothing wrong, then  _why?_ Why resort to such drastic, underhanded measures?

_Why?_

“I don’t know what to do, Betty,” Veronica chokes, clutches her pillow to her chest. Fights off the tears threatening to spill down her face. “If I- if I testify, then he goes free and who knows what dirty tricks he’s going to pull next? And if I don’t-“ she pauses, voice cracking and shaky and she’s not sure she wants to continue that train of thought.

But she does, anyway.

 _My mom might go to jail, too. And who knows what the hell is going to happen to me, to_ us  _after that?_

 _“I’m not leaving. Whatever you decide to do, I’m here. I’ll support you,”_ Betty says, and in the background, Veronica hears the sound of an elevator ding.

“Betty, wha-“ Veronica sits up straight, dumbfounded. “Are you-“

_“Smithers already let me in and I’m on my way up.”_

“When did you leave your house??”

A pause, and then a quiet,  _“When you called me.”_

“Wha-“

Veronica is cut short when she hears three loud raps resounding outside her bedroom, and she all but tears the sheets off of her and makes a dash towards the door.

And standing outside was Betty, phone held over her ear and a warm smile on her face.

“Betty,” Veronica breathes, jumps straight into Betty’s arms. “I- what are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t going to let you go through this alone,” Betty murmurs, presses a kiss to Veronica’s forehead. “I told you I wasn’t going to turn back, remember?”

And Veronica just  _chokes_ , tears streaming down her face and onto Betty’s shirt. What she did to deserve this, to deserve someone who cares so much about her, she’ll never know.

(But God, she’d do it all over again if it meant always being with Betty.)

Then suddenly, she’s lying on the couch with Betty holding her close, lips brushing against her hair, her ears, and her cheeks.

She’s tired, so tired of getting hurt over and over by her own father who claims he loves her and wants only for the best for her.

But what part of this, what part of him using her selfishly and without an ounce of guilt as a  _get out of jail pass_ is what’s for the best?

“You can go to sleep, Veronica,” Betty says softly, soothingly, like a lullaby.

Veronica nods, doesn’t fight off the urge to close her eyes, grip on Betty’s shirt slackening because she has faith that she’s not going anywhere.

The last thing she feels before she falls asleep is Betty locking their fingers together, palms flat against the back of Veronica’s hands. Calloused fingers tracing circles around her skin.

(Veronica wonders what Betty wants so bad that her hands are all but full of small cuts and callouses from working on so many cars to earn money.)

* * *

 It’s on a clear night where they’re lying on the grass on top of a hill and gazing at the stars that Veronica finds out just what Betty had been saving up for all this time.

“I got something for you,” Betty murmurs, fumbles around her jacket pocket and takes out a small, black box. She rests it on her palm, silently asking Veronica to take it.

Veronica does, and upon opening it, she gasps in awe at what she finds inside.

Inside was a chain-linked necklace, with a Northern Star pendant resting right in the middle, glinting underneath the light of the moon and the stars from above. Attached to the lid of the box was a sticky note with a quote that says:

_And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it._

_Paulo Coelho,_ Veronica recalls with a smile, as she touches the pendant.

“In ancient times, when people got lost on their journey, all they had to do was to search for the Northern Star, or the Polaris, so they can find out which way they should go to reach their destination,” Betty explains, takes Veronica’s hand and looks into her eyes.

“This is- this is for me?” Veronica asks, not quite daring to believe what Betty means by this gift.

This gift that is the most beautiful, most meaningful Veronica has ever received.

“Yes, Veronica, because you’re my Northern Star, my Polaris,” Betty says, soft and sure and  _oh._

Veronica  _explodes_ with happiness, tackling Betty to the ground and  _laughing freely_ with tears in her eyes because  _how did she deserve to be loved like this?_

“So- so you like it?” Betty exhales, and Veronica nods vigorously because  _why wouldn’t she love it?_

“Of course I do! I love it!” Veronica half-laughs, half-cries.

“Y-yeah? Do you want me to put it on you?” Betty asks, green eyes shining and golden hair framing her face.

“Please,” Veronica breathes, and Betty takes the necklace and carefully clasps it around her neck. Smiling affectionately, Veronica throws her hair back, loving the feel of the chain links on her skin.

Betty grins, draws Veronica back in as they lie back down on the grass, hands linked together above Veronica’s stomach.

“Look, fireflies,” Betty whispers, points at the gathering flecks of light above them.    

Veronica follows Betty’s line of sight, watches the fireflies draw near each other, flickering and moving about in a silent dance, seemingly lost in their own world.

Tranquil and undisturbed by everything else around them.

“There’s more of them in the summer, but this hill is their spot,” Betty murmurs, as though afraid they might flee if she spoke too loudly.

“They’re beautiful,” Veronica says, awed.

“Right?” Betty smiles, drums her fingers against Veronica’s leg. “I love going here and just look at them and the stars.”

“I can understand why,” Veronica hums, settles herself more comfortably against Betty’s chest. “They definitely have Times Square beat by a punch.”

(It’s true. New York’s lights are harsh, glaring to look at. But the soft twinkling of the stars and the quiet glow of the fireflies are easy on the eyes, peaceful and calming and everything Veronica hasn’t ever felt when she walked underneath the bright lights of the city she once called home.

And being with Betty makes watching the gentle lights even more delightful.)

“Nothing beats nature for sure,” Betty readily agrees.

Veronica shifts so she can face Betty, a smile spreading across her face as Betty stretches her hand upwards to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

And she knows what she has to do.

“You’ve already decided, haven’t you?” Betty asks gently, strokes Veronica’s cheek with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, I have,” Veronica whispers, dances her fingers around Betty’s collarbone and shoulders.

Betty smiles, closes the remaining distance between them and kisses Veronica, tender and sweet and slow. Like blades of grass swaying gently in the spring breeze and flowers basking in the light and warmth of the sun.

(If she’s Betty’s Northern Star, then Betty is her sun, shining brightly and strongly amidst the vast blue sky.

It’s how Veronica knows she made the right choice.)

* * *

 (Betty doesn’t question Veronica’s decision and stands firmly by her side like she so promised over and over again. A quiet, calming presence all throughout the hell Veronica’s been through.

Never wavering, always standing her ground.

Veronica might have lost everything, even her once unfaltering trust in her father and everything she thought she knew about him, but this is the one thing she’ll always be sure of:

She found her heart and her home in Betty.)


End file.
